Gunshot
by Cassandra106
Summary: 'Even to this day, I can still remember when she died. I was only 7 at the time. I don't know if it was because of it being a traumatizing experience, or maybe just reliving that night in my dreams so many times, but I remember nearly everything as if it was yesterday…' Death Note, from Mello's POV. Mostly cannon. M for language and possible mature content ahead.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! :D New stor****y here. I can tell you now that it's going to be _mostly_ cannon, if not completley so. It's basically Death Note told from Mello's perspectice. I hope you like it! **_  
_

**Please reveiw! :3**

**(all content, including the poems, belongs to me except that that is originally a part of Death Note)  
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* * *

_I __**wish **__that things were __**different  
**When all we __**wanted **__was __**time**__.  
We used to look at the __**sunset**__,  
We used to __**always **__rhyme._

_We used to __**fit **__together  
Like two pieces of a __**puzzle**__.  
We __**never **__used to __**overlap**__,  
But now we always __**shuffle**__._

…

Her name was Tatyana. She was my twin sister. I don't really remember much about my life before Whammy's, to be honest, but I know that she was very important to me. We did everything together.

She was everyone's favorite. I do remember that. She was the quiet one, incredibly sweet and brilliant. She was beautiful and good natured.

I was brutish and routy. Just as brilliant, but in an incredibly loud way. I hardly ever did what I was told.

We complemented each other. Ying and yang. Good and Bad.

Tatyana and Mihael Keehl.

Sure, I was a bit jealous. Everyone loved her more, even our parents sometimes. But, the thing is, even _I _loved her more. So it didn't really matter.

Even to this day, I can still remember when she died.

I was only 7 at the time. I don't know if it was because of it being a traumatizing experience, or maybe just reliving that night in my dreams so many times, but I remember nearly everything as if it was yesterday…

…

We're driving to the hospital when someone shoots one of the back wheels of our car.

My father, a former head of the Russian Mafia, curses, swerving and crashing into a tree. I squeeze Tatyana's hand in my own, hearing her scared cries and stand up in my chair, trying to get a glimpse of the damage over my father's seat directly in front of me.

Mommy is crying, clutching at her stomach; I wonder if the baby will ever be born now. Papa is working madly at opening his door, shouting angrily in Russian.

"_Should've known they would come for me…" _he says roughly as his door finally opens. I immediately grab Tatyana from beside me, unbuckling her and pushing her to the front of the door, making her climb over the seats.

Once she's over, she turns back to me.

"_Mihael? Are you coming?" _she asks, a tone of desperation in her voice. Mama is pushing her out the door, groaning as another contraction hits.

"_Yes." _I say. "_Go, Tanya. _Go._ I'll be there in a second._" She looks at me with desperate, brown eyes, before nodding and going.

Mama reaches for me just as another shot rings out in the air.

"_Go."_ she pleads at me. "_Run."_

I shake my head.

"_The baby, Mama."_ I insist, crawling to her as I hear a third shot from outside. _"The baby. You have to push."_

She shakes her head, tears in her eyes.

"_Go_," she says firmly. _"Run."_

I give my mother one last tearful glance and run, hoping I can distract whoever's outside away from the car.

I take five steps outside the car before I see him.

My father is lying maybe ten feet from the side of the road, blood stains surrounding his body with red. I run to him, pressing my fingers against his throat.

No pulse. I choke back a sob.

And that's when I see _her, _blonde hair falling around her face in a halo and her body sprawled in a broken way that just screams dead_. _

'_She's just sleeping, she's just sleeping, just sleeping, _sleeping_…'_

But people who are alive don't have that much blood soaking into their light pink dresses. Before I even think, I'm already to her side, a silent scream ripping through my throat.

Her dark brown eyes, the only thing that usually distinguished us apart, are still open. Gasping, I find the presence of mind to slide them shut with my fingers just as a loud bang sounds off from behind me.

A large gush of air hits me from behind, and I'm pushed down onto Tatyana, my chest laying horizontally against hers.

Several clanging sounds follow and something wet begins to drip against my neck. I pay it no mind, instead rolling off Tatyana to see what has happened now.

Where the car once laid there is now a burning lump of metal. Someone must've thrown explosives.

Another sob reaches it's way up my throat, thinking of the baby.

I was right. It's never going to be born now.

Before I think on what I'm doing, I stand, stumbling slightly. I suddenly feel extremely weak.

I touch the back of my neck and my hand comes back painted red.

'_Yes, that's right, it's only paint,' _I think dazedly before everything goes black.

…

When I wake up, I'm assaulted by an extremely bright light from above. My eyes immediately re-shut and I groan, feeling a distinct pain at the base of my neck. I try to reach up a hand to feel what's wrong, but someone immediately grabs it to stop me.

I open my eyes again, and the light is slightly better this time.

A man I don't know is standing over me, tall and thin, with balding grey hair and kind blue eyes. His hand is around my wrist, which I now see has a clear tube filled with fluid connecting to it. A bandage is tied around the back of my head, I realize. I'm injured.

I scan the room for my parents immediately. _"What-?" _I ask, cutting it off short because speaking is suddenly very painful.

The man gives me a thin smile, patting my wrist delicately before letting it go. _"Do you remember what happened, Mihael?"_ I frown at him tiredly, hearing a light but distinct accent in his gravely voice. It takes me a second to place it.

"_You're American,"_ I croak.

He shakes his head lightly. _"I'm British. Can you please tell me what happened?"_

He has a very soothing way of speaking. Before I know what I'm doing, I start whispering.

"_Mama started having contractions, so we were going to the hospital," _I murmur slowly, the memories coming in a foggy light. "…_someone… shot the back wheel…"_

Suddenly, it all comes back to me in painfully clear bursts of blood and gunshots. I choke back a sob, and tears sting faintly against the backs of my eyes.

"_They're all dead_," I murmur brokenly.

The man gives me a slight nod in response before sitting down in one of the metal chairs lining the walls.

He murmurs something in English, looking through a large suitcase to his left. After a few seconds, he nods, pulling out a slightly battered-looking rosary.

He drapes it carefully across my chest.

"_This was found in the wreckage."_ he murmurs. _"A… colleague of mine thought you would want it."_

I nod, feeling the beads halfheartedly with my free hand.

The rosary is Papa's; it gives me the strength I need to straighten my shoulders and meet the man's eyes head on.

"_Who are you?" _I ask him. My voice, surprisingly steady as it is, sounds remarkably cold.

He gives me a small smile. _"I am Watari. A orphanage in England sent me to pick you up once you are ready."_

I nod tiredly. _"Can we go now, then? I don't want to stay in Russia a second longer."_

'_Maybe,' _I think. _'This will be less painful somewhere that cannot possibly remind me of them.'_

…

The man, Watari, checks me out of the hospital quickly. As we are walking to his car-a black limo- he stops, opening up the trunk.

"_We've got some new clothing for you back here. What color do you want?" _he asks me.

I remember how Papa used to dress when someone had died. _"Something black."_ He gives me a small, understanding nod and hands me a lump of dark fabric. I put it on in the back part of the car while he starts driving, barely noticing as he presses a button that lifts a wall between us, giving me privacy.

I barely pay attention to what I am wearing-pajamas made of silk-after figuring out that it is indeed black. I drape my rosary around my neck over them and curl up on the seat, falling asleep.

Here, separated from the outside world by tinted windows and a black barrier, there is no one to notice the tears that slide down my face.

…

After that, I dimly remember Watari lifting me out of the limo and carrying me into a plane before buckling me in. I remember a strange man waiting for us there, with large dark eyes much like Tatyana's and thick, messy hair. I remember that man brushing a strand of my honey blonde hair out of my eyes, and whispering something so quietly I almost couldn't hear him.

"_Sleep. You'll need it."_

…

_There __**was **__once a __**time**__,  
When, __**against **__the __**bleary **__sky,  
I __**forgot **__about all my __**troubles**__,  
And __**learned **__how to __**fly**__._

_I saw __**wonders **__and_ _**riches**__,  
**Still **__yet __**untold**__.  
I __**forgot **__all my __**worries**  
And __**learned **__how to be __**bold.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, whoever's reading this! :D I hope you like it. I'm planning to update every week or so from now on.  
**

**Thanks for reading! Please review. :3  
**

******(all content, including the poems, belongs to me except that that is originally a part of Death Note)**

* * *

_I __**broke **__up when the __**clouds**__  
gave me an __**example**__.  
When the __**sunshine **__jumped __**through**__,  
I __**grabbed **__a __**handful**__._

_I guess I never ****__real_ized_  
that __**we **__were __**broken**__.  
What we had was __**gone**__  
__**before **__I even __**noticed**__._

…

I didn't know what it felt like to be emotionless and blank until now. It didn't last long, either. I don't know exactly what breaks me out of it.

It's something about the way the dark haired man looks at me with those huge (Tatyana) eyes once we land.

How he says, _"You have to wake up now, _Mello_," _even though I haven't been sleeping for about an hour.

I remember very suddenly that Tatyana wouldn't like it if I shattered like this. Taking a deep breath, I look up at him, raising an eyebrow hesitantly.

It feels so odd.

_"_Mello_?" _I murmur quietly, hating the way my thick Russian accent disrupts the word.

He nods, keeping eye contact with me. _"We're now at a place where it's best that you don't use your birth name." _

…whatever. _"Why _Mello?_"_

The left corner of his lip gives the barest hint of a twitch upwards just as Watari begins to unbuckle my seat.

_ "Because no one will ever see you coming."_

…

The orphanage, formally named Whammy's House, I am informed, is a large castle-like building in the middle of a forest.

L leaves to who knows where soon after we arrive without a word. I miss his presence.

I cling to Watari's (Whammy's?) hand tightly, almost unaware of the action.

He chuckles as we enter. _"You'll be fine."_

I square my shoulders, gripping Papa's rosary momentarily with my free hand. It gives me the strength to take a deep breath and face the crowd as Watari opens the door on my new life.

The room itself is a beautiful sight, with stained-glass windows and a thick dark red carpet running down the center of a dark mahogany floor.

The large entry room is filled with twenty some minors of various ages and races. The youngest person I can see is about 2, the oldest anywhere near 17 or 18. All of them are wearing clothing very similar to what Watari gave me earlier. As soon as he closes the door behind us, everything goes quiet.

He proceeds to say something in a language I do not know. English, I'm guessing.

There is an assorted pause in which about a fourth of the children nod their heads anywhere from half-heartedly to over-eagerly. Someone mumbles something in a language I cannot _quite _understand.

He nods. Speaks again. The only words I understand this time are 'Mello' and '_Russia_'.

Several people look at me, some saying a short word in the same foreign language. I look back at them blankly. Watari sighs and again says something with '_Russia_' in it.

Everyone nods and starts to leave the room.

A young boy, about 2 years or so younger than me, comes up. He's very short, with light skin and near white curls. A toy robot is clutched in one hand.

"_Hello_," he says. I sigh in relief. _Someone _knows Russian. _"My name is _Near."

_"I'm Mih-… _Mello." I say, internally cursing myself for the small slip-up.

His large dark eyes flit to mine carefully. "_Mello _should be more careful. People don't survive very long here like that."

And then he leaves, giving the room an almost empty vibe. I bite the inside of my lip carefully.

…I don't know exactly what it is about that kid, but I don't like him.

…

Watari shows me to my room quickly. It's small and neat, with two beds and a window on the far wall and a TV against the one opposite to the beds. There's a clock on the wall above the TV screen.

_ "Do I have to share?"_

He gives me a small smile. _"Yes. I don't know where he is, though. Probably off in his own little world." _I nod distractedly. I don't want to share.

_'I can probably drive away the roommate whenever I get them,' _I think.

"_Well_," Watari begins._ "Your classes will start tomorrow. Your roommate, wherever his is, should be able to show you to all of them, seeing as you share all his classes. If you have any problems, take it up with one of your teachers. I've got to leave now." _He gave me a brisk hug.  
_  
"Farewell, Mello. I hope you go far."_

…

I lay on the bed closest to the door after finding someone's things (a Gameboy and a pair of orange goggles) around the one closest to the window. I'm staring at the ceiling.

It's white, with little bumps on the plaster about ever centimeter. If I tilt my head, the bumps kind of look like a face.

Tatyana. Mama. Papa. It differs every time I blink. I have to blink a lot for some reason. Must be something in my eyes. Maybe plaster dust from the ceiling?

I am most certainly _not _crying, that's for sure.

…

He's about my age, with dark red-brown hair and deep blue eyes. When he walks in, it's about 11pm and he's stumbling.

His eyes lock onto me blearily as he closes the door behind himself.

_"So you're the new kid? From Russia, right?" _he says in a extremely thick English accent. I nod.

_"Whatever," _he murmurs, sliding over to his bed, still wearing what seems to be a pair of long, baggy jeans and a long-sleeved, black, and dark red striped tee-shirt. "_I'll show you around in the morning. Too tired right now." _I choose not to say '_Duh_.' , instead voting to go to sleep.

Or try. I don't really get any sleep the rest of the night, too afraid of invisible faces in the dark.

…

I decide to get up from my bed at about 7:30am, according to the clock. The other boy is still asleep as I turn the lights on.

When do my classes start?

I don't know, so I walk over to his bed. He's a lumpy pile of sheets and a thick comforter with a shock of mussed-up hair peeking out of the top. I shake his shoulder.

A incoherent mumbling noise comes back to greet me. I frown, shaking him more roughly.

Nothing. Maybe a snore.

I groan. Oh well. He asked for it. I grab the edge of the blankets and yank, sending him in a heap on the floor. His goggles, lost in the night, roll down seconds later to meet him.

I snicker before catching myself.

A large groan sounds off.

"…Bloody _hell_…" he slurs in a tired way, shielding his eyes from the light. I don't know exactly what he said, but I know cursing when I hear it. "What the-?"

I clear my throat, and he looks up to me.

He groans, rubbing his eyes and standing. "_Let me guess. I slept in?"_I nod. He sighs.

_"Sorry." _I notice that his accent is practically nonexistent now that he's more awake. _"I'm not used to getting up early. What time is it?"_

"7:30." He groans again, stretching. "_Sorry_, mate. _Give me a second and I'll get dressed. It's _Mello_, right?"_

I nod. He gives me a bleary smile. _"I'm _Matt_. Nice to meet you."_

…  
_  
I forgot __**hope **__and __**destiny**__  
when I __**left **__this all __**behind**__.  
I never truly __**thought **__I'd __**find**__  
something __**else **__to be __**mine**__._

_All the **rips **and **tears**  
don't really **mean **a **thing**.  
Because, __**when **__I'm with __**you**__,  
I'm so __**happy **__I could __**sing**__. _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the lateness, but I had a really stressful couple of weeks, including a small breakdown. I'm fine now, but it was difficult for a while.  
**

**I'm not really happy with this chapter, so I'm sorry if it's boring... :/  
**

******(all content, including the poems, belongs to me except that that is originally a part of Death Note)**

* * *

_**Peace** to the **world** and_  
_**all** that are **dead**._  
_I can **still** hear their **voices**_  
_**stuck** inside my **head**._

_**Ripping** **apart**_  
_and **falling** at the **seams**,_  
_**when** they're **gone** I_  
_never **feel** like I'm **me**._

_…_

_"C'mon,"_ Matt whines, tugging on the sleeve of my black t-shirt. "_Just one more class. _Roger_'ll_ kill _me if you don't know where it is…"_

I sigh, trying not to let the truth of the words or, worse yet, my conscious, get in the way of my decision.

_"I'm so tired…"_ I say. He nods lightly, hearing the unspoken, 'But…'_ "I guess I'll go. Just this once."_

He smiles brightly, tugging me down the extensive hallways by my wrist.

…

I slump against my bed, exhausted. A lot of things have happened in the last few days, and I just want to curl up in a little ball and ignore the rest of the world for a while.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like Matt's going to let me do that.

"_It's really _neat_ that I've got a roomate now,"_ he chatters. _"I mean, I've had one before, but it's been a really long time._

_"What's_ 'neat'?" I ask, curious despite myself. I'll need to learn English eventually.

_"Ummm… Like 'fun', or 'interesting, or 'good."_ He nods, and I store that in the back of my memory.

Maybe I might find a way to use it later on.

…

English Class is difficult. The letters, which I am being taught first, are very simple, yet I keep on making tiny little mistakes that make me want to through the whole thing out and rip out my hair along with it.

The teacher says I'm doing wonderfully, and it takes me about three hours to be able to write an entire sentence without suicidal tendencies.

My first writing English sentence is 'My hand hurts.' I have absolutely no idea how to pronounce it.

My English teacher (a really fat woman with a pointed face) has me write an entire paragraph in the new language before she's satisfied.

_'I hate writing in English. No, I hate writing at all. I hate this classroom. My head hurts. And that's five sentences.'_

Soo… yeah.

Then comes the actual speaking.

I suddenly miss writing with a heavy ache. My accent is terribly thick and there. It makes me want to scream.

Nonetheless, I can master simple sentences by the time she releases me to my room.

_"Where were you?"_ Matt asks as I walk in and fall onto the bed.

"Learning English."

He gives me a huge smile.

"Awesome! Though you probably like Russian a bit better right now." I nod, conceding his point. He gives me an over-exaggerated shudder. "Just wait until tomorrow. They'll have you conjugating verbs and separating nouns from adjectives until you're sick." He speaks at a slightly slow pace the whole time, as if he knows I might be having a little trouble understanding but doesn't want to be so slow that it's insulting.

I make a face.

"What are-Forget it. I do not want to know." I stretch at my aching fingers restlessly, and Matt turns on a laptop.

I suddenly consider something.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Where is your home?"

He closes his laptop, closing his eyes as well and leaning back.

"I don't know. Whammy's is all I remember, ever since I was little. This is my only home."

…

"Blo'dy fuckin' _hell_!" Matt groans. I've come to learn that cussing is a regular part of his morning ritual.

"Why'd you get me up so early?" he moans, closing his eyes and rolling over.

"Time for classes."

"Oh. That. I can skip a few. I'm sure they won't mind." I give him a doubtful expression, pushing him off the side of the bed.

He groans loudly, laying limp on the ground.

Then he pauses. Sits up. Looks around.

"Wait. What day is it?"

I raise an eyebrow, taking a second to remember the day in English. "Saturday."

He stares at me for a second… "Bloody _hell_!" He starts laughing. "I hate you! I can't believe you did that…" He collapses into loud laughter for several minutes.  
I bite my lip to keep from yelling at him. I don't like being laughed at. "What is it?"

"There's not any classes on Saturday!" he manages to get through the laughter as it dies down.

…oh.

"No one told me that," I grumble, looking through the large chest on my side of the room for clean clothes to wear.

"Do you have any jeans?" Matt asks from behind me, a hint of humor still in his voice. "You don't have to wear your uniform today."

I pause. "What are jeans?"

He gives me a short Russian translation and I shake my head; I don't have any jeans.

He looks through his own chest, throwing a dark lump of denim to me.

"Here, then," he says. "We can ask Roger to let us go out in town for more once we've eaten."

I put on his jeans, realizing quickly that they're a decent fit around, even though they're a little long. I wear one of my long-sleeved black t-shirts over it and swipe a brush that Matt claims he's never used before (taking a glance at the mop of hair on his head, I believe him) through my hair.

When he walks out of the room heading to the dining area, I follow him.

…

The dining room is large. The walls are lined with tables, leaving a gaping area in the center containing a long table, about four feet wide and ten feet long, littered with food choices.

I'm not hungry, but, when Matt decides to take the initiative and fill my plate to bursting for me, I don't say anything. Instead, I look back at the people sitting along the walls, feeling their eyes on me.

Matt sits down in a corner where the least amount of people are and puts my plate beside him, beckoning for me to join him. My neck tingles as I do.

One girl walks up to us, sitting next to me with a large smile.

"_Hi_," she says with a light accent that the back of my mind identifies as American. "_My name is_ Linda. _I didn't catch your's a few days ago._" Her hair is a dirty blond, light brown at the roots and falling in varied curves and waves down to her waist, where it has faded to a golden color. Her eyes are a bright blue-ish gray, and she looks to be about a year younger than me.

I smile at her lightly. "My name is Mello. I can speak a little English," I murmur, once again cursing my accent.

"Oh," she says, beginning to eat some of the fruit on her plate. "Sorry. My bad. I just thought it would be better to use Russian just in case, you know?" I nod lightly, eyeing the large plate of food in front of me.

"Do you want your pancakes?" she asks, laughing slightly. "Because Mattie can be a bit of an overkill. I can take some of them off your hands if you want." Matt sticks his tongue out at her and she lets out a bright, shimmering, laugh that reminds me of bells.

"Take them. I am not hungry." She nods in understanding, using her fork to pull them off my plate and onto her's.

"I know what you mean… I wasn't either when I first got here." She doesn't say anything else, but I can't help wondering just how close her situation is to mine.

I look around the room at the other children, realizing something with startling clarity.

In this room, there are probably several people who went through even worse things than I did. That lost even more.

Regardless, there doesn't seem to be a single person that's upset. Not a single person crying or brooding.

_'If they can be happy,'_ I think,_ 'maybe I can be happy here as well.'_

_…_

_Falling **through** the **stars**_  
_and **into** the **heavens**,_  
_I **wondered** if **I** would_  
_**ever** hit** ground again.**_

_I tried to **look** to the **sky**,_  
_only to find that I was **already there.**_  
_The **knowledge** of my **loss**_  
_was too **painful** to **bear**._


End file.
